


I Fall Apart

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Distress and Disarray [25]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Peril, Rank Disparity, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 00:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17652416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Washington is not really dead, but Hamilton copes poorly regardless.





	I Fall Apart

For six hours Hamilton thinks his general is dead, and they are easily the worst hours of his life. 

It's a damn good thing he's not second in command. Even better that Angelica was smart enough to relieve him of duty and confine him to quarters for the duration of the crisis. If he'd been on the bridge, he probably would've done something stupid.

Like override the torpedo banks and blow the Rigellian pirates out of the sky.

The moment he learns they were _wrong_ —that Washington has in fact returned to the Nelson safe and whole—he's overcome with relief so overwhelming he can't reconcile it with the despair clinging to his insides. He aches to see his general with his own eyes, to confirm and reassure himself. To see tangible proof so he can _believe it_.

Instead he remains trapped in his quarters. A cruel house arrest as the Nelson contends with the logistics of a captured pirate crew. At least he receives updates: Washington is in sickbay; Washington has been released and declared fit for duty; Washington is overseeing the dismantling of the Rigellian weapons array and containment of the prisoners.

It's not until what would have been the end of his shift that Hamilton is finally allowed to leave his quarters. Angelica doesn't lecture him, thank god. Just dismisses the security contingent outside his door and orders him _not_ to show up for tomorrow's bridge rotation.

"But Commander," he starts to argue instinctively, only to back down and fall silent when she gives him a quelling look.

"I don't need special treatment," he pushes in a quieter tone, even though he won't win this standoff.

Her expression softens into something almost kind, and she shakes her head. "This isn't special treatment. It's acknowledging the needs of a crew member who's just been through hell. You've been running on rage and adrenaline for hours, and I sincerely doubt you'll sleep tonight without medicinal supplements." Unspoken is the salient point they both understand: Hamilton is not likely to request such assistance willingly.

"I'm fine," he still argues, purely on sullen principle.

"You're not. Just. Stay put, okay? _Rest_. Get your shit together so I don't have to worry about you fainting from exhaustion in the middle of the bridge."

Hamilton glares at the floor and barely resists the urge to ask if Washington is also being forced to take a day off. If he's not careful, he will pique Angelica's interest in exactly the wrong way. She already sees through him—saw fit to banish him from the bridge before he could compromise ship's operations—the last thing he needs is the Nelson's second in command keeping an even closer eye on him.

"Okay," he concedes at last, a promise to behave. To be _smart_ , and not make her worry.

After she leaves, Hamilton stays put only until he's sure she's really gone, then steps out into the corridor. He moves with purpose to the nearest turbolift. It's just after twenty-three-hundred hours, and most of the crew is either on duty or asleep. Which means there are few people to witness Hamilton storming through the halls, though he doubts he could temper his speed or expression regardless.

He's shaking by the time he reaches Washington's door. There's a visible tremor in his hand as he presses the chime.

When the door slides open, Washington looks guiltily surprised to see him.

"Can I come in?" Hamilton asks, then surges forward without waiting for an answer. He shoulders past Washington and barges into the general's spacious quarters. A moment later and the door hisses shut, followed by the distinctive beep of the lock activating.

Hamilton manages to keep his hands at his sides and his gaze turned out the viewport, even as he tracks Washington's approach in his peripheral vision. Washington stops beside him, not quite close enough to touch.

"I thought about sending you a private comm," Washington admits, "but I hoped you would be asleep."

Hamilton gasps a brittle laugh, and doesn't dignify the assertion with an answer. Washington flinches at the sound, but makes no move to retreat. Instead, after only a brief hesitation, the general takes a step forward and sets a heavy hand on Hamilton's shoulder.

"Alexander." Caution echoes in every syllable.

Hamilton closes his eyes and shudders. His entire focus hones in on his general. The warmth of the hand on his shoulder, the cadence of that powerful voice fallen soft.

"You were dead." The words come out a barely audible hiss. "They told us you were dead, and _we believed them_. You were gone, and for six hours I knew you weren't coming back. Do you have _any fucking idea_ —"

His voice breaks mid-tirade and he chokes to trembling silence. He's shaking even harder now. Every molecule of his being is vibrating as though his body will simply fall apart.

"I'm right here," Washington says in a soothing voice. Then, heading off the inevitable wounded retort, he closes the distance between them and drags Hamilton into his arms.

Hamilton crumbles without a fight, allowing himself to be manhandled. Curling tight to Washington's chest as though his general is the only source of heat in a frigid universe. He wraps his arms around Washington's waist and clings, hides his face against Washington's throat, draws a stuttering breath that leaves him lightheaded.

He is abruptly certain that the only reason he's upright is the strong, protective circle of Washington's arms holding him close. His breath is coming fast and shallow now. Ragged. Fuck, he's having a panic attack. His lungs are moving but he can't get enough air. He can't focus, can't _think_ , can't bring himself under control.

It takes him a while to register Washington's voice through the chaos. Steady and soothing and calm.

"You're okay. You can breathe. I've got you." _I've got you_. Like a mantra. _I've got you. I've got you. I've got you._

The tightness in Hamilton's chest eases with every repetition, until he's breathing in time with Washington's voice. In and out. Grudgingly relaxing into his general's arms.

The mantra quiets but Washington continues to hold him, and Hamilton makes no attempt to extricate himself. He's not yet ready to be free, still not entirely sure he'll be able to keep his feet.

When he trusts his voice enough to actually speak, Hamilton says, "I'm staying here tonight." The words come out muffled, squashed as they are into the front of Washington's uniform.

"Alexander—"

Despite the quiet tone, his name clearly suggests inevitable protest, and Hamilton tenses.

"I'll sleep on the floor if you need me to," he blurts. "I don't care. I'm not going back to my quarters. _I can't_. Please let me stay!" He sounds frantic again. Rushed and desperate and pleading. If Washington sends him away he's honestly not sure _where_ he'll go, but back to his own deck seems an impossible feat.

It takes a painfully long time for the answer to come, but at last Washington says, "You don't have to sleep on the floor."

It's a concession, however obliquely phrased, and Hamilton exhales the breath he's been holding. It comes out more sob than relieved sigh, and Washington holds him tighter. When a lingering kiss presses to his temple, Hamilton nearly convinces himself he's imagining the improbable intimacy.

At last Washington lets go of him and steps back, but there's no hint of reticence in the retreat. When Hamilton looks up he finds an unreadable expression on his general's face.

"You look exhausted, my boy. Let's get you to bed before you fall over."

"Yeah," Hamilton agrees, and for the first time today he is hopeful he might actually sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Reconcile, Shift, Ache
> 
> I also hang out **[over on Dreamwidth](https://dreamlittleyo.dreamwidth.org/)** , if you'd like to find me. (And have set up a **[Hamilton/Washington Community](https://whamilton.dreamwidth.org/)** over there, just a heads up to anyone who might be interested :)


End file.
